


Choices

by glacis



Category: X Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in June '97. An unusual look at why Krycek does the things he does, and the choice Mulder must make in response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

Choices, by glacis

It had simply gone on too long. His chain-smoking superior was no more, brought down by his own unhealthy habits. He was  the one with the 'little bit of power' now. And the situation did  not look good. The FBI was beginning to lend more and more  credence to the duo of Agents Mulder and Scully, and the web  of subterfuge protecting their operations was growing too  dangerously thin. His predecessor had attempted to control the  dangerous pair's investigations over the past six years, but Agent  Scully's abduction, while yielding interesting medical data and  providing some entertainment for the elite as they witnessed  Mulder's breakdown, had not been nearly successful enough.  In the years since then they had merely grown stronger, their  intent undiminished. The Consortium was backed against the  wall. It was time to rip out the weed in the middle of their  particular shady garden. Time to kill Mulder.

He even had the right tool.

 

The sweating, disheveled young man tried to curl  himself into a tighter ball, even though it was physically  impossible. The last thing he remembered was hiding out  in a little town in rural Alberta, a wide spot on the road  where no one would find him, no one would remark on a  quiet stranger who kept to his apartment, smiled and answered  politely when they attempted to chat with him. No one would  get too close, no one would report him. And no one had. No  one needed to. They had managed to track him down anyway.  Middle of the night, at least five of them, all in black, hidden  faces, no time to react, nowhere to hide, no time to fight...

The memory brought a fresh wave of nausea-inducing  pain through his head. Long, trembling fingers rubbed at the  back of his neck, pressing at the tiny straight scar, the mark he'd  thought was a mole and couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as  to discount.

He didn't remember them putting the implant in his  neck, either.

This one was different, he thought muzzily through  the constant waves of pain. He didn't think the one they put  in Scully could do this to her. Or else why wouldn't they have  used it? This implant was weird. It wasn't just some sort of  human version of an ear tag. He stopped trying to disappear  into himself as that thought struck him. If the chip he assumed  was under the scar really was some sort of transceiver, why hadn't  his old boss used it to track him down? His eyes widened at the  thought. When had they done this to him? And why? And what  did they want from him now?

The metallic slide of a door clanging open distracted him,  and he tried to straighten to face the new threat. A new wave of  fire lanced through his head and he instinctively dropped back  down, whimpering and covering his head with his arms as if to  somehow block the pain. Stupid really, when he knew it came from  inside himself, but he could no more stop the movement than he  could voluntarily cease to breathe.

"Mr. Krycek. Alex. Stop fighting it. Don't struggle,  and I'll make it go away."

The cold, mellifluous voice flowed over him, and he  stopped trying to push the pain away in order to try to make  sense of the words. A shiver rippled through his body as he  slowly dropped his arms, willing himself to stay still. The pain  did subside, then, to a manageable level. He took a shaky breath  and stared up at his captor, a well dressed, handsome Black man  in his forties, with the coldest eyes he had ever seen.

"What ... what do you want?" His voice sounded small,  reedy. Frightened. The man looked down at him, and smiled  slightly, and his fear grew stronger.

"It's time for your final performance, Mr. Krycek. One  last task for you to perform and you will finally be free."

Alex pulled himself slowly along the wall, using its  support against his back to lever himself upright. "I thought  I was free," he whispered fiercely. "When did you do this?"  His hand swept up to point unsteadily at his neck. The other  man blinked, and considered the question. Alex thought he'd  never seen a human look so much like a snake in his life.

"When you first entered our service, Mr. Krycek," he  finally answered.

"Then why didn't-" Before he could finish the question  the man cut him off.

"My predecessor didn't have intimate knowledge of all  the aspects of our field operations." He paused, and ran his gaze  dismissingly along Alex's sprawled body. "I did. It wasn't  necessary to waste your talents by allowing him to kill you.  Now, he is dead." Alex started, then controlled himself when  the movement sent blinding pain through his skull. When he  was able to concentrate on his surroundings again he realized  that his captor was still speaking. "-neural technology. It is,  in effect, a controlling device hardwired into your nervous system.  You will do as you are ordered, or you will suffer. Your own  subconscious will be the trigger for your punishment. If you  knowingly disobey a direct order, you will die. Painfully. Slowly.  Do you understand me?

Alex stared mutely up at him, patently confused. The  other man sighed briefly. "Let me put it simply. You'll do as I  tell you. I will take you to a place, and bring a man to you. I will  give you orders and leave. You will follow those orders, even  without my presence, because if you do not do so you will feel this."  One strong, dark hand disappeared into the outer pocket of his  overcoat, and Krycek screamed with the sudden sensation of every  nerve in his body catching fire. It was gone as swiftly as it came,  and the aftermath left him shaking, with tears running down his  face and the acrid scent of urine in the air where he had wetted  himself. He gasped for air and looked up into the implacable face  of his new enemy.

"I'll do whatever you tell me to," he rasped. The other  man nodded.

"Yes. You will."

 

Mulder looked at the stacks of paperwork threatening to  create a landslide off his desk and sighed unhappily. Scully wasn't  around to keep him on track, and even after only two days, her  absence was strongly felt. She'd been unexpectedly tapped for a  two week assignment to teach a forensic pathology seminar in  Edinburgh, Scotland, and he wasn't expecting to hear more from  her than the occasional email message for another twelve days.  He sighed again, and moved to the door, unwilling to admit he  was running from his paperwork. He would do it tomorrow, he  assured himself. It was just too nice a day to spend it filling out  justifications for losing his gun on eight different cases ... in  quadruplicate. As he waited for the elevator to take him from  their basement dwelling place up to the entrance and home, he  glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly  eight. Time flies, he started to muse, when a fist came out of  seemingly nowhere and caught him behind the ear. He never saw  his assailant, never heard a whisper of warning. The world went  dark.  

 

It had been three days. He'd been fed, and allowed to wash,  and dressed in clean clothes. All of his weapons were gone. No one  would tell him a damned thing. The Black man hadn't come back,  and he was grateful for that. But the waiting was getting on his  already shot nerves. When they came for him, he tried to ask where  they were taking him, but it was as if they were deaf, or he was mute.  They didn't even look at him. When they stopped, one forced him  into a small room on the back side of a rural motel, and ordered,  "Stay there."

He stared at the dingy walls of the seedy motel room where  they had deposited him. One stood at the door, patently guarding  against escape. What they didn't know was that he wasn't going  anywhere. He didn't know what the hell the thing was in his neck,  but it worked just like the man had said. When he automatically  started mapping escape routes, a warning wave of fire had lanced  through his body. He stopped thinking about doing anything but  'staying there,' and the pain went away. So he sat there, and  shivered, despite the heat of the August night.

A small gray sedan pulled up, and the guard came to  attention. He opened the door to allow the man in the dark suit  to enter the room, followed closely by two men dragging a tall,  limp form between them. Krycek stared with complete disbelief  mixed with any number of other emotions as they dropped Fox  Mulder's lanky body at the side of the bed. Alex was too tired  and too far out of his depth to even try to shield the play of  emotions across his features. Shock, that they had decided to  be so open and finally attack Mulder himself, fear, at what the  consequences would be, apprehension at what they would order  him to do to his old ex-partner, hatred of the whole situation.  He stared at Mulder, who groaned slightly and began to stir.  Strong fingers moved to cup his face under his chin, forcing  him to meet deep, frozen brown eyes. Those eyes studied him  for a long moment, ignoring the small sounds issuing from the  prone figure between their feet, taking in the emotions writ  large in stormy green eyes.

"Now you can do what you always wanted to do, Mr.  Krycek," he almost whispered. "Take care of Agent Mulder.  In your own inimitable style." A louder groan from the floor  interrupted his little speech, and he nodded at the guards to  leave. Mulder had one hand braced on the floor and was  starting to rise now. The older man looked as if he wanted  to say something more, but instead, he dropped Krycek's face  and headed for the door. Alex watched him go, and realized  two things. He was supposed to get rid of Mulder. Permanently.  And everyone else in the entire group wore gloves except him.  A hand clutched the bedspread next to his leg. Well, him and  Mulder. Which meant if he did kill the agent, he would take the  fall.

"That was the plan, no doubt." At the suggestion that  he might not follow orders, the pain began. Hastily, taking a  deep breath, he concentrated on his intended victim. Mulder  was leaning against the bed, shaking his head gingerly, trying  to focus. The blow had been a strong one, but he'd had worse.  And luckily he had a thick skull. At least that's what his partner  was always telling him. Before he could get his eyes to cooperate  he felt himself yanked up by the thick hair at the back of his head.  He found himself bent backward over hard thighs, his hands  clawing innefectually at the hand in his hair, overbalanced and  unable to kick or punch out to free himself. The grip brought  tears to his eyes. Another hand came to close strongly around  his throat, but to his vague surprise the fingers didn't close  around his windpipe. Instead, he was held in the back-breaking  position for long moments as his eyes finally cleared.

He almost wished they hadn't.

"Hello, Fox." Alex Krycek's face was pale, sweating  slightly in the heat, with a flush across his cheekbones and a  strange, almost manic glitter in his eyes.

"Oh, fuck," Mulder squeezed out. Nothing like having  your nightmares visit you in the flesh. Oddly enough, Krycek  froze at the exclamation, and stared at him for the longest  moment. Then he smiled, with what looked strangely like relief.

"Yes," he hissed, and lowered his mouth viciously to  cover Mulder's parted lips. The other man was frozen with  shock, still unable to move or fight back, not quite able to  believe that his nemesis was kissing him, hotly, wetly, carnally,  thoroughly. Mulder was wondering if he shouldn't be gagging  or something, instead of feeling vaguely aroused and completely  confused. It really had been too long if this was turning him on,  he thought, then Krycek broke the kiss and gulped for air. Mulder  lay with his mouth open, lower lip slightly swollen from the force  of the kiss, and watched Krycek stare off into the distance. He  instinctively looked over to see what the other man was staring  at, but all he saw was the closed door. "It just ... might ... work."

Mulder looked back at Krycek, who was now peering at  him intently. The manic gleam had, if anything, intensified, but  there were other things there too. Fear. Desperation. Pain.  Arousal. The last was given added emphasis by the unmistakable  bulge of a rapidly hardening cock pressing into his left bicep. He  stared, mesmerized, at the emerald eyes staring back down at him.  "What the fuck is going on here, Krycek?" he challenged him,  ignoring the fact that he was not exactly in a position of strength.  A fresh wave of pain took dominance over the other emotions in  Alex's eyes, and the younger man winced for a moment before  shaking it off. Then he leaned over and put his mouth next to  Mulder's ear.

"Will you listen?" He waited an interminable moment  for the almost imperceptible nod from his captive, then continued  with his whispered explanation. "Got a chip in my neck.  Discipline thing. I do what they say or it hurts me. I disobey,  it kills me. They ordered me to 'take care of you' in my 'own  style' -- 'do what I always wanted to do to you.' Then I take the  fall, you're out of their hair. But it had to be a direct order."  He pulled back and stared at Mulder's pale face and wide hazel  eyes. The expression of a man expecting his executioner. "We  got an edge." His voice was jerky now, trying hard to keep the  thread of the conversation before pain took him over. "I know  what they want. Hurts to disobey but I have to, sort of. I'll  .... take care of you, all right. My style ... is a little rough.  I always ... wanted to fuck you, hard and deep until you couldn't  move." Mulder's eyes widened even further, and a strangled protest  caught in the back of his throat. "Not quite what ... he had in  mind." The strain was beginning to show on Krycek. "Please  .... please don't fight me. If you fight me ... I'll do what he  really wants. Please."

Mulder's mind was reeling. Krycek wanted him to  participate in his own rape. If he didn't, he would die. Or, if he  played it right, he just might escape. He bit slightly at his lower  lip, wincing a little at the tenderness there. He had to try. Besides,  his legs and his back were killing him. Maybe if he went along for a  little while Krycek would let him out of that bloody back bend he was  in. He nodded, feigning concerned acceptance. "I won't fight you,  Alex." The other man's eyes closed for a moment, and he sighed  with relief.

Krycek gently disentangled his fingers from Mulder's  hair, shifting his hands under Mulder's armpits and half lifting,  half sliding him onto the bed. Taking a deep breath, he began to  pull at the buttons of his shirt, trying to remain calm, trying to  ignore the trickle of fire running all along his nerves that reminded  him that what he was doing was not precisely what his boss had  had in mind. He clamped down as tightly as he could on the errant  thought and the pain it created, and concentrated on the long body  lying quiescent beside him. His breath was coming in short gasps,  and it wasn't just from the exertion or the pain.

He had wanted  Mulder for months, since the first time he had walked up to his  desk and seen him with the headphones on, mouth working on  sunflower seeds, eyes hooded in a tired face. The desire, strictly  sublimated, had only grown, even as he was betraying the man.  By the time Mulder had thrown him up against the bank of  telephones at the Hong Kong airport and used his body to hold  him down, he'd nearly come in his jeans at the contact. Luckily,  Mulder hadn't figured it out. And he'd had a lot of time since then,  in the silo and during the long months since his escape, to fantasize  about what he would do to this man if he ever got the chance.  As his mouth closed over one bared nipple and his hand began to  work frantically at the zipper of Mulder's slacks, those thoughts  played through his mind in an endless, dizzying loop.

As the rough hands tore at his shirt and the dark head  lowered to his chest, Mulder wrenched his thoughts away from  the unexpectedly arousing sight and feel of his ex-partner. This  would be the best chance he would get for escape, now, while  Krycek was caught up in his passion. Mulder shoved his arms  under Krycek's torso with a quick, strong move, flipping the  other man off of him and following the flip with a strong right  cross to Krycek's jaw. It connected with a satisfying crack that  left his fingers numb, but it had the opposite effect than he expected.  Krycek howled, like a wolf with his paw caught in a trap, and lunged  at Mulder. The ferocity of his attack overwhelmed Mulder, and the younger man threw him across the side of the bed to land with  stunning force against the far wall. The back of Mulder's head  thudded dully against the plaster wall, and the force of the  concussion knocked the shade off of the light fixture. Still  groggy from the previous blows to his head, this one sent him  into a half-conscious state, and he was in no condition to fight  off Krycek any further.

Alex caught Mulder as he started to slide down the wall,  and threw him face first onto the bed, snarling unintelligibly as he  stripped the shirt and pants off the weakly resisting agent. Shoes  and socks joined the pile of nearly shredded garments beside the  bed, soon joined by Krycek's own jeans and tee shirt, boots and  socks. Mulder tried to pull himself off the bed, but the younger  man straddled him and put a hand to the back of his neck, forcing  him to stay in place. There was a sudden pressure, material burning  against his waist and hip as Krycek ripped his boxers from his body,  the soft cotton no match for his anger.

Mulder gasped as Krycek  dropped to lay his entire weight against his back, pulling his head  back to arch his neck and growl in his ear. "You motherfucker, I  warned you. I DON'T want to kill you. I just want to fuck you. It  HURTS! It hurts, goddamnit. You shouldn't have tried to run.  You said you wouldn't fight." Krycek's voice was slurring as he  fought the almost overwhelming urge to break the neck under his  hands, to follow the underlying orders as well as the spoken  command. Adrenaline and arousal mixed with pain from the  implant until he seemed barely human. Mulder shuddered at the  heat radiating from the body pressed so tightly to his. This, he  just knew, was really going to hurt.

Krycek was spreading his ass, kneading the muscles,  forcing his legs apart to roll his testicles roughly from side to  side, pulling at his sac. The pressure was painful, but he knew  it was nothing compared to what was coming. Forcing his mind  to concentrate on nearly forgotten encounters with his roommate  at Oxford, Mulder managed to take a deep breath and force  himself to relax. As he did, he felt Krycek slide one finger firmly  into his anus, forcing its way past the ring of muscle. He breathed  deeply, and was startled to feel a hot mouth at his shoulder, a wet  tongue lapping and sharp teeth nipping at the curve of his neck.  A second finger joined the first, and pulled into a beckoning motion,  raking across his prostate and ripping a moan from his chest. His  body began to betray him, his cock hardening under him, pressing  into the mattress as Krycek forced a third finger deeply into his ass,  not pausing in his assault on the gland that was sending jolts of  electricity through Mulder's nervous system.

He buried his face in  the pillow, tears starting at the sheer helplessness of his position and  his unwanted, unwilling arousal. The fingers were unceremoniously  pulled from his ass and he inhaled with the shock of relief, only to  lose the breath to a gasp as Krycek forced his rigid cock past the  ring of muscle, taking the path his fingers had loosened. Mulder  whimpered under the assault, and Krycek bit him once more on the  side of the throat, making him feel the sting of his teeth as he sank  to the balls into Mulder's body. Resting, as far in as he could go,  he laved the tender spot with his tongue, licking a trail from the  side of his throat to his ear, across the exposed cheek to the corner  of his eye, pausing to dab at the tears there with the tip of his tongue.  

Then Alex drew up, running his hands along Mulder's arms to  rest his palms firmly against the backs of Mulder's hands, pinning  them above his head, holding him in place. Shifting to plant his  knees more solidly between Mulder's parted thighs, he channeled the  fiery pain from the implant, the frustration of the past several months  on the run, and his long-buried desire for Mulder into a punishing  rhythm, pushing in as far as he could go, withdrawing almost  completely and slamming back in until they were skin to skin,  his balls slapping against Mulder's perineum, ignoring the strangled  gasps and moans being torn from his victim. Over and over, in time  with his thrusts, he muttered, "Hurts. Shouldn't have fought. Hurts  so much. Do you. Hurts."

Mulder couldn't help but agree. After what felt like a  lifetime, he felt the rhythm speed up, and the intensity of Alex's  thrusts grew, hard as he found that to believe. He just wanted it to  be over with, wanted the pounding to stop, wanted to come, to  relieve the aching fullness of his own cock, to drive his erection  into the bedsheets and have it be over, never have to admit the  extent of his body's betrayal. With a sudden moan, Krycek slammed  all the way into Mulder's ass, and he felt the pulse as the other man  came, shooting twice, three times, deeply into him. The sensation  nearly triggered his own climax, but his horror at what was being  done to him and the pain from Krycek abruptly withdrawing his  softening cock from his abused ass took the edge off his own need  for orgasm. He was still hard, but now, at least, he could think.

He was utterly surprised when strong arms came around  him and hugged him tightly to the slick body laying along his back.  He couldn't quite make out the sounds Krycek was making. The  other man had buried his face in the nape of his neck and ...  suddenly the shaking movement in the body behind him made  sense. Krycek was crying. He froze, shocked into immobility  by this unexpected reaction. Before he could figure out where  this was coming from, Alex was shifting again, and he felt the  sensation of thin, scratchy toweling as the other man gently  cleaned up the sweat and semen from his ass and the tops of his  thighs.

The tenderness and intimacy of the action revived his  erection, and he groaned, feeling his pelvis jerk in small thrusts  as he tried to get himself off against the sheets. He heard a small  sniffle behind him, then another, then those muscled arms were  turning him over, settling him gingerly against the rumpled sheets.  Wet dark eyes like drowned spring leaves stared into his, and he  caught his breath as the other man leaned over him and sought  his mouth again. This time there was less frenzy in the kiss, and  it was both deeper and sweeter, as Krycek took his time and explored,  using his tongue, his teeth, his lips to seduce Mulder's mouth as  thoroughly as he had just taken his ass. One hand snaked down  between the two close-pressed bodies to grasp Mulder's erection  firmly, rubbing up and down, circling the sensitive head with a  thumb, milking it with a steady pressure from clenching fingers.  Mulder's breath began to sound more and more like sobs, and Alex  withdrew, taking in the shell shocked expression in the wide hazel  eyes.

"It was this or death, Fox Mulder," Krycek murmured.  "Did you want to live?" The shame in the shadowed eyes below  his own answered the question without any words having to be  spoken. "I do too," Alex added, then slid down the sweat-drenched  body and replaced his grasping hand with his mouth. Mulder threw  his head back at the first shock of Krycek's mouth closing over the  head of his cock. He pumped into the welcome heat, panting as  the younger man slid one hand carefully between his thighs and  soothed the sore tissue around his anus, the gentle touch almost  unbearably stimulating in concert with the movement of Alex's  tongue on the sensitive head, the slight rasp of teeth along the  column of erect flesh, the pulling caress of the lips. Krycek  alternated licking the length of Mulder's cock with strong sucking,  then flicking the tip of his tongue into the weeping eye at the tip  of his cock.

By now, the sensations were making Mulder thrash  against the sheets, one hand tearing at the cheap cotton, the other  buried in Alex's hair, his pelvis thrusting forward as he fucked  Alex's mouth mindlessly, his head tossing from side to side on  the pillow. With one last inarticulate scream he climaxed, pumping  down Alex's throat, coming so hard spots swam in the darkness in  front of his eyes under tightly squeezed lids. The aftermath of  the climax left him nearly unconscious.

Alex pulled himself along the bed, gathering Mulder's  relaxed form into his arms and holding on tightly. Breathing  deeply, he was shocked to realize that for the first time since he  had been captured, the pain was gone. He reached an unsteady  hand up to feel the spot at his neck and was shocked to find that  the scar was hot enough to burn his fingertip. His bitten-off curse  roused Mulder, who stared at him distrustfully.

"Mulder," he began, then stopped and licked his lips.  Looking around a little wildly, he spotted a utility can opener  next to the cracked plastic ice bucket on the dresser. Unwrapping  himself from the other man, Alex slid from the bed and shakily  stumbled to retrieve it. Approaching the bed at a near run, he  thrust it out toward Mulder. The agent started back, then stared  at him as if he'd lost his mind. "No time. They'll be back soon,  or else they'll send the cops, expecting to find your corpse here  and my fingerprints all over the fucking room." Mulder took the  can opener, continuing to stare at him in disbelieving silence.  "Take it out!" Alex commanded.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mulder responded.  "This is a damned can opener, Krycek!"

"Do you see anything else around here that could be used?  Hurry, damnit! The, our, shit-" he was stumbling over his words,  trying to explain, not wanting to waste precious time to do so.  "Orgasm seems to have disabled the implant temporarily now  will you please open the goddamned can opener and take this  fucking thing out of my neck?!"

Mulder swallowed at the rising edge of desperation in  Krycek's voice, and pulled open the curved hook at the end of  the can opener. Licking his lips nervously, he clenched his jaw  and used the sharp tip to cut into the flesh at the back of the  young man's neck. Krycek whistled softly between his tightly  clenched teeth, but made no movement. Mulder felt the hard  round pellet in the layer of subcutaneous fat and scooped it out,  for all the world as if he was removing a huge sliver with a  scoop shovel. Grabbing the edge of the sheet and swiftly  tearing off a strip, he wadded it into a semblance of a pad  and pressed it against the small, bleeding cut. Alex reached  up and held it against himself, and Mulder rolled carefully  from the bed, reaching for his clothes as swiftly as he could.  

Krycek watched him slip the pellet into his pants pocket, and  got up to reach for his own clothes. Dressing as efficiently as  he could with a wad of cotton clamped to the back of his neck,  he stared at Mulder. The other man had washed up a bit,  scrubbing his hands, splashing water into his face, keeping  as far from Alex as he could. Alex took a deep breath and  tipped his head to the side, indicating the wound from the  removal of the implant.

"Thanks. Now, I have a chance, at least."

The agent nodded. "I don't know whether to thank  you for not killing me or kill you for..." His voice trailed off,  and he stared at the floor.

Krycek bit his lip, and walked over to stand in front  of him. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "It ... I didn't know  what else to do. And I had to make the pain stop. Had to do  something-"

"Obey the letter of the law," Mulder interrupted.  "Well, I guess in this case I'll just say the two cancel each  other out, then." He looked angry, and confused, and strangely  vulnerable before he clamped down on his emotions and the  familiar calm mask descended. "What will you do now?" He  wanted to take him in, for Scully's sake if not his own. But he  knew if he did Krycek would never live to see trial. And he  wasn't sure he'd be able to take him, even if he tried.

"Start over," Krycek replied, studying Mulder's face  intently. Slowly, moving softly, he reached out and traced the  slight cleft in the older man's chin, then let his finger rest  gently against his full lower lip. "I never meant to hurt you.  But I had to make my choices, and I had to take my chances."  He let his hand drop, then stepped back and regarded Mulder  with a modicum of professional distance that should have  seemed out of place under the circumstances. For some reason  it felt right. "I'd better leave now. I got the impression the cops  were next on the agenda, and I really don't want to be here when  they show up." As if on cue, the faint sound of sirens disturbed  the night. Krycek gave a ghost of a smile, and Mulder couldn't  help but return it. Then he continued seriously, "You chose life,  Mulder. Hold on to that."

Mulder stared at him as he slipped out the door and  disappeared around the corner of the parking lot, suddenly and  completely exhausted. Had it been a choice? He supposed, in a  very limited way, it had. All he knew at this point was that it  had been another near escape from the machinations of those  who would see his quest for the truth stopped, and it had been  the hardest night of his life. His nightmares now had a new dimension.  

 End

 

 


End file.
